


Some Rain Must Fall

by SarcasmFish (Alcyonidae)



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Adorable, F/M, Fluff, Minor Angst, Pre-Relationship, romantic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-15
Updated: 2017-04-15
Packaged: 2018-10-19 02:49:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10630587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alcyonidae/pseuds/SarcasmFish
Summary: Alistair and his fellow warden end up caught up in a rather fierce rainstorm and must take shelter in the forest until it blows over them.





	

The camp was a small, inconsequential journey away from the river.  They had learned early in their travels that setting up too close to a fast-moving river could disguise the sounds of anyone wishing to attack them in the darkness of night.  Thus, it was necessary to send a group to carry water back each night.  The two Wardens always seemed to volunteer when the job was proposed.

Alistair crested the hill, adjusting the skins full of water over his shoulder so they did not cut into his muscles as deep.  The younger Warden beside him was struggling with her own burden.  She had insisted on carrying her own fair share and was now finding the task more than she had fathomed.

He slowed his pace until he felt as if he were walking on top of his own feet.

A bag slipped and dropped off her shoulder again, tripping her up and almost sending her sprawling to the ground if he had not caught her by the arm.

She threw the rest to the ground with a scowl, kicking at the side of the one that had fallen first.  It rolled over, bloated with water, but did not further protest her mistreatment of it.

He dropped his cache beside her own and flopped onto the ground, leaning back on his arms with a theatrical groan.  He stretched his legs out, imagining he was back at camp and could free his feet from the confines of his boots.

“I was hoping you’d call a break,” he remarked without preamble.

He kept his eyes fixed on the sky, watching his pouting companion from only from the corner of his vision.  It was best to let her be when she was frustrated like this.  She stared at him, the anger ebbing from her tense shoulders.  Finally, she sat beside him, curling her legs beneath her with a hefty sigh.

Their reprieve was short.  The wind picked up, kicking leaves and other detritus into their hair and eyes.  A bundle of somber grey clouds sailed over the horizon of trees like a fleet of dark ships.  The sun was hidden in their wake, casting unnatural shadows over the landscape below.

Alistair pointed out over the tree line, shielding his eyes with a forearm from the wind.  “Looks like a storm is coming in.  We’d better get back.”

He hopped to his feet and began gathering up their baggage, taking a few extra than before and hoping she would not chide him for it.

“It looks pretty wicked up there.”  He gave himself a little chuckle, crossing the straps so they would not slide off his back.  “I wonder if Morrigan is going to fly around inside of it?”

There was no reply.  He glanced back over his shoulder.  Astaria had not moved from the spot she had plopped down on earlier.  She was transfixed with the storm that was encroaching on them with frightening speed, her head turned up to the sky in wonder.

He called her name, drawing out some of the syllables to make it into a little song to gain her attention.

She looked up at him and stood, a little sheepish at her wool gathering, but hesitated in picking anything up.  The clouds distracted her again, drawing her gaze out over them as they boiled in the atmosphere above them.

“Could we stay, Alistair?”  She gestured out with an open hand, as if trying to convince him of the majesty of the scene.  “I’d really like to see it.”

The wind whistled up the hill to them and the smallest spattering of drops fell against his forehead.  He shifted, glancing from her to the storm and back.  He found himself with an agreeance on his tongue, even while his head warned that the clouds looked like the beginnings of something serious.

“It’s just a little rain.”  His answer was weak, likely lost over the sounds of the trees.

A flash of lightening rolled through the clouds, lighting the blues and greys within with bright forks of light.  He heard her gasp at the sight of it and his resolve crumbled.  It was a good thing he had stowed away his armor before they had left.  He was not going to make it back to camp dry.  The sword belted at his waist and the shield across his back could be dealt with later.

She stood, perched on the balls of her feet to see the great blanket of clouds being draw toward them over the trees.  He cast aside the water skins again so he could watch with her, though his eyes were drawn mostly to the woman before him.  The wind whipped up into her hair, making it float around her like an ethereal veil.  She looked powerful and remarkably beautiful standing there with the roiling storm framed before her.

There was so rarely time to just observe her, to take in her mannerisms and the color of her hair; the way she stood, so commanding while being so small.  He watched her, her enthusiasm at the sights and sounds around them filling his heart with something he could not grasp.

Another flash of lightening illuminated the clouds, this one descending to lick the top of a tree in the distant forest before them.  A deafening crack of thunder split through the sound of the wind, filling their ears and rumbling over them with vibrations Alistair could feel deep in his skin.

Astaria yelped, stumbling back into his chest where he caught her by the arms.  She looked up at him, an expression half startled, half betrayed on her features.

“That was so loud!”

“Oh, yes, that.  I didn’t think of the lightening.”  He let her go and stepped back to their task.  “We should probably get out of the open, just in case.”

Her eyes widened and another unearthly whip of thunder clapped and reverberated around them.  She threw her hands over her ears and looked at him as if he had suddenly remembered the archdemon might fly out of the storm and just now decided to tell her.

A fierce sting of rain began, slanted against them like a fall of arrows.  The clouds were so low above them that Alistair swore he could have reached up and scooped them into his hands.

“Time to go!”  He grabbed her by the hand and made off for the trees.

She resisted, looking back behind them.  “What about the water?”

“We can come back for it!”  He had to yell over the rain now to be heard.

He tugged at her hand and she relented, following him into the thicket of trees.  The storm caught up with them at a speed they could not outrun.  Lightening flashed above them and thunder rumbled and crackled into a strident symphony.  The wind rattled the trees above them, slicing through the branches and whipping the leaves into an agitated frenzy.  If he had not known better Alistair would have guessed there were Darkspawn in the canopy, tearing through the leaves and branches to get to them.

The rain lessened for a moment, shielded by the trees above them, but as the center of the storm moved over it grew thick again, making it hard to see a path before them.

The rain plastered his hair to his forehead and drenched him as quickly as falling into a lake.

He kept a firm grip on Astaria’s hand.  She was looking behind them more than forward.  Along with her shorter legs he felt like they were not making much progress into a safer part of the forest.

There was a large tree ahead of them, ancient and drooping with moss, a trunk wide enough for six or seven Quinari to encircle.  The roots rose around it, creating lumps and bridges and other obstacles to trip over.

The rain turned cold.  It became icicles that jabbed them in the neck and drew shivers from their flesh.

Alistair altered their course to the tree.  There were two massive arched roots protruding from the ground creating a ‘V’ shape just large enough for the two of them to fit between.

“Here!”  He pointed out the spot, trying to elevate his voice over the sounds of the tempest.  “We can hide here until the worst of it blows over.”

He threw himself between the large ancient roots, gnarled and covered in ferns and other plant life.  Astaria squeezed in beside him.  He pulled the shield from his back and wedged it above them into the bark of the roots, angling it so it would direct the brunt of the rain down away from them.

He leaned back against the hoary trunk of the tree and fought to catch his breath.  Astaria huddled beside him, pressed up against his side.

A loud clash of thunder filled their ears again.  It made Alistair think back to the stories children were told about storms.  Nothing to worry about, just the Maker dropping his pots and pans.

Astaria glanced above them at the poor roof his shield was providing, pulling her head between her shoulders, making herself appear even smaller.  He wondered what stories mages were told about the thunder they could hear, muffled by the stones of the tower, but never experience. 

She drew her knees up and hugged her arms around them, shivers building. 

He felt his fingers clench.  He had nothing to offer her that was warm or dry.  Her robes were soaked through just as much as his tunic.  Out of the force of the storm they both sat dripping.  While his shield was redirecting most of the rain the wind had other ideas.  It wove between the roots to sting at them and sap what little warmth their bodies could create.  It permeated the ground and soaked up into their numbing behinds.

“Maker, did the storm bring this cold in from all the way up in Highever?”  His teeth chattered, but his voice took on a playful tone.  He gave her a gentle nudge beside him.  “We’ll have to keep each other warm until we can get dry.”

She peered up at him, a little smirk touching the corner of her lips, before responding.  “Right, well, you’re a walking Ferelden furnace.  Get to it.”

He sputtered.  She always knew how to catch him in a bluff.

Alistair fought with the idea of slipping his arm around her.  If he felt chill he could not imagine what she was feeling.  The idea just seemed so juvenile, so sleazy.  He did not want to put his hands on her unwanted, even if she might be suffering the cold.  Was she inviting him to move or had she been teasing him?

Another shudder wracked through her, looking as if it shook her right down to the bone.

He took a breath to muster his courage and wit.

“Well, if you insist.  We can’t have you dying of the cold.  Then I’d kill the archdemon all by myself and hog all the glory.”  He lifted his arm and settled it around her shoulders, trying his best to find a comfortable, appropriate spot for it.  He sat there stiff and tense, waiting for her to throw him off and chastise him for being too bold.  Instead, she huddled in closer to his side, leaning her head against his shoulder.

A flood of emotion washed through him, hundreds of threads he could not capture.  He would have done anything she asked in that moment.  Anything.  Shave his head, give up cheese, get one of Zevran’s tattoos, play nice with Morrigan…  Well, almost anything.

He curled his hand around her bicep, slouching down a little to offer a better share of his warmth.  He had imagined this.  Sitting by the fire with her at his side, he had let his imagination wander to what it would be like to have the freedom to touch her, to reach for her without fear of reproach.  He had imaged it might be awkward, he would be all big hands and clumsy weight that would pull on her hair and crush her smaller form.

Instead, he felt as if the Maker had crafted him to fit her like the perfect suit of armor.  It was a blasphemous, silly thought.  He could imagine the Chantry nuns of his past gasping and Morrigan rolling her eyes, but he felt it.  It was like finding the missing piece to your favorite mug, long broken and chipped.  Finally, it could be repaired and made useful again.

Andraste above, this was getting away from him.  He gulped back the flood of affectionate feelings.  It would do no good to indulge in such wishes and fantasies.  They were friends and she had yet to make any signals of further interest.  Not that he would know what those signals might be.

Maker help him, he was a right mess.

They sat together as the storm toiled above them.  More and more of her weight leaned into him as they both grew more comfortable with the nearness.  She still tensed each time a heavy clap of thunder and lightning shook the ground around them.  Alistair made it his noble duty to give her a little squeeze of reassurance each time.  It was childish, ridiculous.  Here was a woman that faced down darkspawn and nobility when she had such little stake in the cause and he felt the need to comfort her.

The heavy torrent of rain and lightning began to lessen as they sat huddled beneath that timeworn tree.  The raindrops that once sounded like weapons against the shield above them slacked to a gentle pattering and the thunder grew distant and echoed.

A drop of water ran down the bridge of his nose and collected at the tip.  He noticed she was looking up at him, an amused little smile on her lips.  It made him want to kiss her.

“What?” he demanded instead.

“Nothing.”  She flashed a little smile up at him.  “I’m sorry I got you caught in a storm.”

“It was worth it,” he blurted and then scrambled to recover.  “To uh… it’s a free wash, right?  No worries about bathing in a stream and having fish nibble at my leg hair later.  I hate that.”

He tried to look away in case he was blushing, as if he were checking the clouds above them to see if it was safe to leave yet.  The blackest clouds were beginning to fade to grey, but Alistair found himself not ready to untangle himself from her.  She was still watching him, that captivating little smile touching her lips.

He felt his face growing warmer.  He was never this awkward with her.  Why now?  He grasped for a safe topic.

“It’s uh, wow.”  He ran a hand back over the top of his head, pushing the sop of wet hair off his forehead.  It felt like he slicked a whole cup full of water out of his hair.  “My hair is going to be an absolute mess when it dries.  What is it about rainwater that always makes my hair look like a sad cat?”

Her smile waned and she ducked her head down between her shoulders again.  Her eyes avoided his.

Blast, what had he said?

She fiddled with her own hair, pulling out a braid and smoothing the hair down over her ears.  The wet strands hung limp and did little good to disguise the sharp points.

He grabbed her hand without thinking.

“You don’t have to do that.”

She stared at him, searching his face and eyes for something.

He reached out to her, letting his hand hover in the air a moment in case she wanted to swat away his intentions.  When she did not push him away he tucked the rain soaked strands back behind the shell of her ears.  He made the gesture slow and gentle, aware of the immense amount of trust she was giving him.

“I… I think they’re rather beautiful.”  He swallowed, thick and heavy with an emotion he could not control.  She was looking up at him again through wet lashes, a look of wonder and awe that sent him spinning.

He coughed and pulled his hand away.  Where he had once sat shivering he was now too warm.  He scrambled for something benign.

“I’m rather jealous.  My ears are so normal, except for this one on the right.  It’s just a bit different.  Does it make my head look unbalanced?”  He gave her a charming grin that felt a little weak on his mouth.

She gave him a broad, shining smile and surprised him by slipping both arms around him.

“I think both of your ears are rather perfect, Alistair.  I wouldn’t change them at all.”

“Oh, well,” he laughed and made an awkward attempt to hug her back.  “If you think so, then I’ll keep them.”

The embrace lingered between the two until the shield above them chose to dislodge itself from where it had been wedged and clatter down onto Alistair’s head.

“Ow!”  He shoved it aside and rubbed the top of his head, his companion tossed into a fit of laughter.  He would take several more hits to the head just to hear that sound from her.

“Blighted thing never liked me,” he mumbled, but could not keep a smile from his lips.

“I guess we should get back,” she said through a few more giggles.

He gave a grunt in reply and stood, offering his hand to help her stand.  She took it and allowed him to pull her onto her feet with ease.  Maybe it was his wishful thinking, but he could have sworn he felt her fingers squeeze his own.

With a nudge from his toe he flipped the shield over and plucked it from the ground.  It was stowed snug against his back for the return journey.

Astaria was staring up into the canopy of trees above them.  The torrent of rain had faded into a gentle patter of rain.  Her face was upturned, eyes closed and gathering raindrops on her skin.

“You know, despite the Blight,” she was speaking into the sky, her voice soft and almost lost to the rain.  “I think this is the happiest I’ve ever been.”

He stared at her, gaped at her, uncertain of how to respond.  Not even his usual sarcasm could rebound from such a statement.  He watched the raindrops gather in her lashes and kiss upon her lips, jealous of their easy caress.

She turned a happy smile on him and began to head back to where they had dropped their water.

As he stood there gawking, a hesitant tug on his hand reminded him she had not yet dropped his hand.


End file.
